A small child looks up
Before him are racks of cakes
Pies
Custards
Creams
Chocolate of all kinds
“Do you have a bumble” he asks
His voice is small
His stature slight
Blue shorts
A blue and white striped shirt
Sneakers that flicker red lights when he moves
He is up on his toes
He is back on his heels.
The lanky clerk looks down
Black-rimmed spectacles slide along his nose
A handprint in chocolate on his smock
“A bumble?” he asks.
The boy nods
“Describe it,” the clerk asks.
“I was told to fetch a bumble,” the child says.
“Is it chocolate?” asks the clerk.
The child shakes his head.
“Is it pastry”
“Is it jam”
“Is it custardy”
“Perhaps it is flan”
All shaken no.
The child digs his hands into his hips
“No, a bumble,” he says.
“What could a bumble be?” asks the clerk.
The boy grins, giggles, and runs out the door
His mates outside clap his back
They jump up and down
They shout
They squeal
They wave their arms
And cross them as they double over in laughter
The clerk clucks and smiles.
Philosphical Musings of Christopher Ketcham 